


The importance of having a sofa

by gothikmaus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothikmaus/pseuds/gothikmaus
Summary: Crowley has never felt the need to own a sofa. Until he sees Aziraphale stand awkwardly in front of him, wringing his hands nervously together and looking around, clearly searching for somewhere to sit.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 173





	The importance of having a sofa

In all his time on earth, Crowley has never felt the need to own a sofa. He was more than pleased when humans invented beds (sleeping on heaps of straw was so inconvenient) and has always made sure he got the latest, most comfortable model available on the market. He's had tables and chairs, mostly to keep up appearances in case someone from Downstairs paid him a surprise visit and inquired about the status of his latest report (" _It's right here, see? Right on my desk. Almost ready to be submitted._ ") But a sofa? Not quite as comfortable as a bed, not quite as functional as a chair. There has never been a reason for him to have one.

Until now. Now that Aziraphale is standing awkwardly in front of him, wringing his hands nervously together and looking around, clearly searching for somewhere to sit. He briefly eyes Crowley's throne-like chair, seemingly considering the idea, then glances away. But not before the demon's vivid imagination supplies his brain with a very clear image of the angel sitting there while Crowley climbs into his lap.

Right. He snaps his fingers and a sofa appears out of thin air, all sleek lines and modern design, the gunmetal grey a perfect match for the rest of his flat. Aziraphale looks quite relieved as he settles himself down on one end of it. The demon takes the opposite end, one leg folded under the other, and turns towards the angel.

Aziraphale folds his hands in his lap and looks at him.

"You wanted to talk?"

*****

Lunch at the Ritz was lovely. The food was delicious, the wine superb, and even the background music wasn't too tedious (Crowley made sure the pianist played all of Aziraphale's favourite pieces). Afterwards, they wandered idly through the streets of London, no rush in their steps now that they knew they had all the time in the world. Crowley was basking in the late afternoon sun, enjoying the bright orange rays warming up his skin as they slowly strolled down broad avenues and narrow alleys, walking past familiar places they thought they would never see again.

When they finally stopped, the sky far more pink than blue, they were standing in front of Crowley's place.

"Stay here tonight," the demon blurted out, not quite able to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

He could see the change in Aziraphale's mood even before the angel spoke. It was a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, but Crowley was far too proficient at reading him to miss it.

"Thank you, dear, that won't be necessary: the bookshop's back."

"I know."

Aziraphale wanted to say yes. It was so obvious he did. But even after everything they had gone through, he was still hesitating.

"Don't tell me you're still worried about what Upstairs might think."

The angel's silence was a very loud answer.

"I can't believe it. After all they've done? They tried to kill you, for... Somebody's sake! They were ready to watch you burn!"

"So did your lot," Aziraphale replied meekly. "They put on quite a show, and the audience was very eager: a lot of demons were really looking forward to seeing you annihilated by holy water."

"Yeah, well, that's Hell for you: you know everyone's ready to stab you in the back, and not just metaphorically speaking. But Heaven... They're _angels_ , they're supposed to be _good_. And that arsehole Gabriel! I was so close to blowing my cover and just strangling the bastard. Does he always treat you like that? How can you stand it? That's-"

Aziraphale gently placed a hand on Crowley's cheek. The demon shut up immediately.

"You're very protective," Aziraphale murmured, a small smile on his lips.

Crowley covered the angel's hand with his own.

"I thought I'd lost you. When the bookshop burned down, I looked everywhere, everywhere, but you weren't there. I couldn't find you, I couldn't _sense_ you and I just..."

He closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale's.

"You're better than them, so much better. How can you just accept all the crap they put you through?"

Aziraphale sighed.

"I suppose I just... I was a soldier once and they were my superiors. I've never questioned my superiors. Just like I've never questioned God's decisions. Lucifer's fall, Adam and Eve, the Flood. And then hunger, diseases, an endless stream of wars. Surely the Almighty wouldn't have allowed such atrocities if they hadn't been part of Her plan all along. I wanted to believe there was a reason behind all that. I _needed_ to believe."

Aziraphale smiled bitterly and started to withdraw, eyes downcast.

"You must think I'm so naive."

Crowley's free hand cupped the angel's face, not allowing him to move very far.

"You're not naive. Well, all right, you are a little naive, but that's just who you are. You're what an angel should be: you're pure. You're good. And you always want to see the good in everyone." He gave a sarcastic little snort. "Even in me."

Aziraphale looked up. "That's because you _are_ a good person. Even if you'll never admit it."

"Can we continue this conversation upstairs?"

Aziraphale stared right into the demon's sunglasses, the dark lenses only partially hiding his pleading expression. The silence seemed to stretch for aeons.

He nodded.

*****

No, Crowley doesn't particularly want to talk. There are a number of things he would like to do with Aziraphale, _to_ Aziraphale, but at the moment talking is pretty low on his (admittedly long) list. He's also quite sure his long-time adversary may be interested in at least some of the items on said list and was hoping the angel would be more amenable now that Heaven doesn't have such a tight grip on him any more, but if the ramrod-straight back and the nervous fidgeting are anything to judge by, the demon will need to be much more patient than he thought.

He shrugs with fake nonchalance. He can be patient. He's waited six bloody millennia, he can wait a little more.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you."

Aziraphale smiles.

"You've spent a lot of time with me in the last few years. We even raised the fake Antichrist together. Sort of."

How can he explain? How can he make the angel understand? It doesn't matter whether it is an hour, a day or a year: time spent with Aziraphale is never enough. But he's not good with words. So he flashes his most devilish grin and acts like it's not a big deal.

"And we did a brilliant job, didn't we? A perfectly balanced boy, that one."

"I would wait a few more years before saying that," Aziraphale replies. "But we're not here to talk about young Warlock Dowling, are we?"

Crowley's grin falters. Time to revert to the classics.

"Want something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

The demon's confident façade is beginning to crack.

"I'd rather be sober if things are going where I think they are."

Crowley would rather be plastered instead. He might as well get this over with.

"And where do you think they're going?"

Aziraphale takes a fortifying breath and looks straight into the demon's eyes.

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Crowley knows he can dislodge his jaw when he's in snake form, he's done it more than once. In that moment, though, he feels like he's about to do the same while in human form as well.

He snaps his mouth shut, teeth clinking loudly together.

"I... You... I mean..." He crosses his arms against his chest. "What if I did?"

Aziraphale averts his eyes and stares at the wall in front of him.

"I... Wouldn't be averse to the idea," he eventually mutters, weighing each word carefully.

Crowley just gapes, mouth open and sunglasses halfway down his nose.

"I would actually like it very much."

Yes, Crowley is definitely going to dislocate his jaw.

"You... You would?"

Aziraphale nods and pats the spot next to him on the sofa. Crowley is sitting at his side in an instant.

"I've been thinking about it for quite a while. But I've never dared... Before. And even now, I'd be lying if I said I'm not scared, but..." He reaches out and takes Crowley's hand in his. "If, like you said, Heaven and Hell are only going to leave us alone for a bit, maybe we should make the most of whatever time we have left. What do you say?"

Crowley can't speak. He's still trying to process the fact that Aziraphale has actually thought of having sex with him. For "quite a while" too, apparently.

As the silence draws out for a few more moments, Aziraphale's hopeful expression begins to crumble.

"Oh, dear. But maybe you _don't_ want to... Oh, this is so embarrassing, I just assumed..."

As he starts to withdraw his hand, Crowley leans in and presses his mouth against the angel's.

"Of course I want to," Crowley says as he pulls back slightly, just enough to look into Aziraphale's eyes. "What kind of question is that?"

The angel isn't just smiling, he's positively beaming, and Crowley can't handle the sight. He leans forward again, only to draw back with an annoyed growl. He takes off his sunglasses and throws them off to the side, not giving a damn where they might land. As he goes in for another kiss, Aziraphale gently takes his face in his hands. His lips are soft and pliant and open up immediately at the first touch of Crowley's tongue.

Aziraphale's hands slide down his neck, slipping under his jacket and pushing it off his shoulders. Crowley pulls it the rest of the way off and drops it to the floor, then makes quick work of the angel's coat, enjoying the shiver he causes as he runs his fingers down his sides. He gently pushes him backwards and Aziraphale goes willingly. Crowley takes a moment to admire the sight of the angel lying on his back, head propped on the armrest and blue eyes gazing up expectantly at him, before he lowers himself on top of him. He doesn't remember removing both of their shoes, but they're nowhere to be seen. Frankly, he doesn't give a damn.

Aziraphale places a hand on the nape of Crowley's neck, coaxing him closer, and the demon cannot suppress a moan as their lips meet again. Kissing has never felt like that. Sure, it was nice and all, and it was usually a prelude to sex (which made it even better), but it's never been that intoxicating before. 

He doesn't know how long they stay on the couch, but he could lie there for hours. Days. For eternity, if Aziraphale wanted.

And then the angel lifts his hips and rubs himself directly against Crowley's very hard dick.

"Fuck," he gasps, raising his head just enough so he can take a few breaths.

"Yes, that's the general idea," Aziraphale pants, and Crowley can't wait any longer.

He lightly taps the knot of Aziraphale's bow tie and the strip of silk unfolds immediately, hanging loosely around his neck. He runs the tip of his forefinger along the buttons of the angel's shirt and waistcoat, each one freeing itself smoothly from its buttonhole and letting the garments fall open, revealing inch after inch of fair skin.

Aziraphale licks his lips.

"You've done this before."

It's not quite a question. Crowley doesn't quite know how to answer.

He has tempted humans on countless occasions over the course of six millennia: he's the original tempter after all. Of course some of said temptations involved the pleasures of the flesh, because if Upstairs declares it a sin, then Downstairs wants it to happen, but he didn't usually need to personally take part in the act: all he had to do was whisper a few words, plant an image or two in the mind of the person in question and the wonderful thing known as human imagination would do the rest. But after a while he got curious. So, when he was told to corrupt a man of the cloth in the 15th century, he didn't just insinuate impure thoughts about the poor, half-frozen pilgrim knocking on his door into the reverend's mind: he _was_ the poor, half-frozen pilgrim, slipping under the blankets with his host to show him just how grateful he was for being offered shelter from the vicious storm.

The first time had been out of curiosity. Then it was for scientific research: he had to try all possible combinations in order to reach a conclusion. Was sex as a man better? Were female orgasms more enjoyable? How about intercourse with multiple partners? The fact that the good reverend and all the other men and women who took part in his experiments just so happened to be blond and fair-skinned, with sky-blue eyes and a warm smile was a total coincidence and held no scientific relevance whatsoever.

"Is... Is it a problem?"

_Please say it isn't, please say it isn't._

Aziraphale shakes his head and smiles. "At least one of us knows what he's doing."

"You've never... Ever?"

A soft blush tints the angel's cheeks pink.

"God was already turning a blind eye to my Gluttony, I didn't want to push my luck. Even if..." He glances away.

Crowley softly runs the backs of his fingers down the side of his face, silently encouraging him to go on.

"There was someone once, in that gentleman's club I used to frequent. Lovely chap, very good at dancing. Rather... Er. Rather handsome too."

The pink on the angel's cheeks is rapidly turning a bright shade of red and Crowley has to restrain himself not to smother him with kisses.

"He walked me to the bookshop one evening and... Oh, he reminded me so much of you, Crowley. He was tall and his hair looked auburn in the candlelight and his eyes were so bright. He kissed me, and it was lovely, but... I couldn't. It didn't feel right. I hadn't realised it yet, but even back then, there was only one person I wanted to be with."

Crowley suddenly feels like someone has punched him in the stomach. He's afraid he may actually be sick. His face must betray his distress, because Aziraphale is looking at him with a worried expression.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Crowley closes his eyes. He can't take the angel's kindness, he doesn't deserve it.

"I'm an idiot."

He feels Aziraphale's palm gently cup his face and automatically leans into the touch.

"Look at me. Please."

Crowley reluctantly opens his eyes.

"There you are. Care to explain?"

It takes him a couple of tries before he's able to speak.

"All those people, those men and women... They were assignments at first. Lead them astray, they said. Tempt them with sex. But then I wanted to try: humans seemed to enjoy it so much, I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. And it felt so good, angel, I had no idea it would feel like that. It made me forget about... Until I realised how much they all looked like you," he finally adds, sounding miserable.

He's never admitted it out loud. It's mortifying. It's pathetic. He wouldn't be surprised if Aziraphale pushed him off the sofa and never wanted to see him again.

But Aziraphale stays. He just keeps looking at him, blue eyes as kind as ever and smile never faltering.

"Well, you no longer need to settle for cheap copies, my dear: you can have the original."

Crowley blinks. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this angel in his life, but he's not going to question his luck. He leans down and hugs him, burying his face in the side of his neck. Aziraphale holds him close, hands running slowly up and down his back. He kisses Crowley's head and the demon sighs.

_Please, never stop touching me._

Crowley eventually moves, trailing soft pecks along the angel's jaw until he reaches his lips. He tries to convey everything he can't say in that kiss, hoping Aziraphale can feel what the demon can't put into words. They're both out of breath by the time Crowley finally pulls back, lips feeling swollen and oversensitive as he runs them down Aziraphale's chin and throat.

"So, are you going to show me everything you've learned from your diabolical assignments?"

_Anything, angel. Anything you want._

"That's going to take a while," he murmurs as he slides down further.

Aziraphale gasps as Crowley's palm presses down on his crotch. His hands reflexively grab the back of the demon's head, fingers tangling in the flaming hair as his fly is slowly undone.

"Let's, ah, let's not waste any time then."

Crowley knows they should probably move to the bedroom, they would be much more comfortable on his big, luxurious bed. But the sofa is brand new: they might as well christen it properly.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry for stopping _there_ , but apparently I'm unable to write explicit stuff any more. Maybe next time?


End file.
